Stimulating
by zarabithia
Summary: On the way to happily ever after, Trip worries about living up to that famous Vulcan stamina. Silly, pointless fluff - no angst!


Stimulating 

**Disclaimer**:  No profit is being made. The characters belong to Paramount, except for Trip and T'Pol, who belong to each other. Paramount still gets to tell them what to do.  Proof that life isn't fair.   

**Rating**:  Strong PG-13/Weak R.  Much sex found herein, but none particularly graphic.  Stronger than Neuropressure sessions, less suggestive than Showtime. 

**Genres**: Trip/T'Pol. . .romance/maybe humor. NO ANGST! It's pretty much a PWP.  

**Author's Notes/Warnings:  **This is somewhat of an apology fic.  I've been torturing T/T (and Archer) pretty severely lately, and I wanted to allow them a fun little rump before I continue with the pain.  I DO believe in happy endings. . . However, without angst, it also has no plot.  NO Beta, so mistakes are acknowledged and apologized for.  This is also set far in the future, so T'Pol has gotten over her name issues – Trip is Trip now.  Kind of like how Spock got over his issues with our good friend James- er, Jim.  

**Summary**:  On the way to happily ever after, Trip worries about measuring up to that famous Vulcan stamina. 

~~~

"T'Pol?"                                                                                                                                                       

Through our time together, I have grown accustomed to my bondmate's need to talk following intercourse.  The discussion has no productive purpose, of course, and is purely an emotional sentiment.  Regardless, my bondmate is human and I willingly permit both his post-coital urge to talk and his desire to have his arms wrapped firmly around me.  Neither are unpleasant . . . in fact, my Trip's tenacity in remaining in contact after the purely carnal urges are filled are somewhat . . . reassuring.  It is of course, irrational. Then, most events and sensations surrounding my bondmate are irrational.  

"T'Pol?" my bondmate repeats.  "Hello. . . Earth to Polly?"

I will not waste the effort to scold him for the usage of that nickname.  Truthfully, it too is oddly pleasing. "You are not on  Earth, Trip. We are on Andoria, as you well know."

He is in close enough proximity that the ensuing laugh causes the fine hairs that adorn his chest to brush lightly against my breasts.  The sensation of that caress reawakens the carnal urges my Trip had sated only moments before. 

"I know that, Polly.  I _was_ best man for Mally and Tally." 

"Trip, it is only because you are my bondmate that I permit you to use the unpleasant nickname you have chosen for me without bodily harm as a result.  I do not believe Talas will pause to consider reasons to refrain from the same."

Again he rumbles, and again I suppress the urge to have him again.  It simply is not possible yet.  Human males need more time to recover than Vulcan. It is my bondmate's only discernable sexually related flaw. 

"T'Pol? Ya still with me? Ya look like you're a million miles away.  And I'm not bein' literal, and ya know it."

"I was merely permitting myself to indulge in the sensation of your scent."

"Ya tellin'me I stink?"

"If that were the case, I would hardly be indulging, Trip.  On the contrary, your post-coital scent is even more pleasant than your ordinary scent."

"Mmm." He moves his mouth closer to my ear. When he speaks again, the warmth of his breath against the tip of my ear threatens every ounce of control I possess.  "So basically, you're sayin' I smell better after I've been thoroughly fucked?"

Such vulgarity could never sound as pleasing to the auditory senses if it came from anyone else.  "Yes," I reply simply. 

He murmurs again, and his hands begin to roam.  I welcome the touch and spread my legs without hesitation when his hands reach my genitalia.  His fingers are a welcome intrusion and I clamp down on them with as much force as possible without hurting my bondmate.  His fingers are quite skilled and I allow a moan of decided displeasure when he withdraws them.  

"What have you ceased?"   
"Just a minute, T'Pol."   As my bondmate pulls the rest of his body briefly away from me, I am reminded of the cooler air of the Andorian night and cannot suppress the shiver that courses through me.

"Sorry, Polly, didn't mean to hog so much of the cover," he murmurs as he pulls the cover back over our bodies.  "But I . . . um, well, I have a present for ya."  

"You stopped your ministrations in order to give me a present?  That could not have waited?" 

His response is the same smile that undid years of strict adherence to the mentoring of Soval.  "But the present will help with my 'ministrations,' Polly.  Open it," he encourages.

It is a poor present, by human standards, as it is not wrapped.  Typically, Trip finds great joy in the excessive decoration of gifts.  Thus, I can only conclude that he planned in advance that he would interrupt our copulation in order to give me the present.  Curiously, I lift the lid from the box.

Its contents confuse me. The "presents" are several elongated devices ranging in material from plastic to metal to a more gelatinous substance.  The latter molds more closely resemble a human male's penis.  Unattached to a body, I find it the most disconcerting. 

"What are these?"  I ask. I do not add that I would have rather not interrupted our activity to receive such gifts. 

The iron component that courses through my bondmate's veins is quite apparent as he flushes, a sure indication of embarrassment.  "Well, they're . . um , dildos." 

"What purpose does a . . . dildo . . .serve?" 

The uniqueness of human blood is once again very present.  Perhaps it is more so this time. 

"They don't have these on Vulcan?"  
"If we had such a  product, I would not need to inquire on their purpose." 

"Nah, I wouldn't guess they would need 'em."  My t'hy'la exhales in frustration, an emotion that becomes even more apparent as he pulls away from me.  This is a clear indication that the conversation has altered from the original innocuous prattle following intercourse we typically engage in.  The absence of his touch is also . . . undesirable.  

"What concerns you, Trip?" I raise myself on my elbow in order to better see the emotional expression marring his features. 

"Nothin'." His reply is too quick in coming to be truthful.  

I guide his face towards mine and look into those eyes which would stall the logic of Surak himself.  "You are not being truthful, _Adun_."

"Am too."

"I sense otherwise through our bond."

"Senses must be off line then." 

It is fortunate that I cannot experience exasperation, although there are times such as now that my human seems determined to test that particular inability. "It is a telepathic bond.  It cannot be . . . 'off line.'" 

"Well, they are this time, T'Pol.  Nothin' is wrong."  He removes the covers and makes the motion to stand.  

It is times such as these that I realize how unprepared I truly am to have a human bondmate.  I would not exchange my Trip for another of any species. However, his rapid emotional shifts frequently causes me confusion.   They follow no logic, and thus, logic is an unacceptable means of dealing with them. 

The logic of pattern has dictated, however, that focusing on my . . .sensations. . . as opposed to my t'hy'la's emotions, is an effective method. Given how rapidly he has dressed, I see such a course of action is needed immediately.

"You did not find our copulation pleasant." 

My wording stops his hand in mid-reach for his shirt, proving that certain erratic human mood swings can be subject to logic after all. 

"No, T'Pol, of course not!" His exclamation is followed by a quick turn around that permits me to see the disbelief across his face.   
Reminding myself that my subterfuge is the only way to coerce Trip into telling me the truth, and thus providing me with a means to alleviate his pain, I continue, seemingly unabated, and in the same stubborn manner as my bondmate.  "You have retracted your affections almost immediately after beginning them.  The logical conclusion is that you grew . . . bored with my presence."

I am rewarded an expression of further disbelief followed by a sigh I have come to recognize as a impending signal of concession.  "No, T'Pol that's not it at all."

"Then what is _it?" _

He pauses to consider his words.  The ensuing repositioning of his behind on our bed confirms that my deception was effective. "I don't know how to say this. . ." he hedges and refuses to meet my gaze.

"Truthfully and succinctly is best." 

A slight smirk crosses Trip's face, yet it is one I recognize to be humorless.  "Short and sweet, eh? . . . okay.  You remember Kov, right?"

Again, it is fortunate I do not experience exasperation. "Yes.  How does he pertain to this conversation?"

"Well, we were talkin',  comparin' Vulcan and human . . . um, sexual practices, and-"

"You discussed our sexual practices with another?  A Vulcan Without Logic?"  I allow disapproval to seep into my voice. 

"No, no, NO!  T'Pol, I wouldn't do that!" Trip looks increasingly frustrated.  "Look, if you want to know what's botherin' me, let me finish without interruptin', okay? I promise that I wasn't discussin' you and me, and you should know better." 

"I have come to expect better of you, t'hy'la." 

"I should hope so.  But anyway. . . um, apparently we aren't the only human-Vulcan couple."

"We never have been, Trip.  Historically –"

"T'POL!"  Anxious fingers run through his hair, and I resist the urge to replace them with my own.  "Now's really not the time for a history lesson."

"Very well.  Please continue.  Preferably at a more rapid speed."

"I'm TRYIN', T'Pol.  Anyway, I . . .we. . . Kov's um, mate, apparently was impressed by his stamina."

"I doubt she would be pleased to know that Kov discussed that particular aspect with her."

My t'hy'la sighs again, and I am briefly concerned that he is agitated with me once again, until he speaks. "Trust me, she's not the only one that would be upset by the conversation." 

"Given previous remarks, I assume the conversation caused you to become upset as well, although I am not certain why."

"Geez. . . T'Pol, it's just that. . . well, I'm not. . . I'm not a Vulcan." 

My mate has said many illogical statements in our time together, many of which have either tested my ability to maintain logic or have left me completely perplexed.  This statement has managed to do both.  "Trip, I am aware of your species.  However, I am not aware of its relevancy to this conversation." 

His breath is released with excessive force, in the same manner that he uses when he is demonstrating frustration with a particularly taxing piece of machinery.  I do not especially appreciate being on the receiving end, but this is not the first time.  Nor, I suspect, shall it be the last. Resisting the urge to release my breath in a similar manner, I allow my bondmate to express his dissatisfaction.  "Damnit, T'Pol, how can you be so smart, and not understand what I am tryin' to tell you?"  

He half rises from the bed, changes his mind, and runs his hands slowly over his face in a repetitious  manner.  I attempt to ascertain the appropriate words to calm his agitation, but I can come up with nothing.  "I'm not a Vulcan, T'Pol, and I don't have Vulcan . . . stamina."  The last word is whispered, in a manner which relays a sensation of defeat.  Clearing his throat, he adds, "That's what the dildos are for."

My gaze travels from the crestfallen expression on my t'hy'la's face to the box still remaining in my grasp.  I take one of the objects from its resting spot and turn it slowly in my hands.  After careful scrutiny of elongated white metallic material in my hand, and contemplation of what my t'hy'la has said thus far, I come to what I believe to be a logical conclusion.  Yet, how can such a logical conclusion be so absurd?  Surely, I have missed some vital component to this conversation.  Still, he is looking at me sorrowfully – no doubt, awaiting an answer.  Although my conclusion is irrational, as a Vulcan I must cling to them, until he says something to dispel them, which he no doubt will.  Gesturing with the object still in my hand, I ask,  "This was meant to take your place . . . inside me?"

"Well. . . maybe not replace, so much as . . . um, ya know, supplement." 

"Supplement?" 

"Yeah.  Since I can't last um, as long, ya know?  I thought they could um, tide us over until. . "  There is a pause, during which I watch as my bondmate's fingers intertwine in a fashion I have come to note as a demonstration of nervousness.  "Ya know. . .accordin' to Kov, Vulcan males can last up to ninety minutes."  His face is nearly as red as the crimson that adorns his uniform. 

Placing the cold metallic object back into its holding box, I place it and its fellow examples of Trip's misguided intentions beside the bed on the floor before I continue our conversation.  Trip is looking at me expectantly.  Crossing my fingers in my lap, I 

cock my head slightly before replying.  "That is true."  I take in his wince and realize that perhaps I should have used more tact. "However, perhaps Kov neglected to mention to you that few Vulcans are as adept at using other parts of their body."  To illustrate my point, I re-arrange my body closer to his and trace the outline of his deliciously warm lips with my index finger. "For instance, since kissing is not a Vulcan phenomenon, stimulation of another's genitalia with one's mouth is not a typical Vulcan sexual behavior." 

His shoulders relax, a sign that he has calmed somewhat.  Still, he protests, "I don't know, T'Pol, ya seem to be pretty knowledgeable in that area." 

"Indeed.  I had an excellent teacher."  I allow my mouth to replace my fingers' path briefly before pulling away.  "An excellent _human_ teacher." 

The evidence of the iron in his blood this time I recognize to be a sign that he is pleased.  While this is gratifying, I have come to learn that the human ego is a fragile one.  To err on the side of caution, I decide to further inflate his ego.  Taking his hands in mine, I explore the calloused and weathered fingers of my bondmate and cannot help but marvel at the gentleness they are capable of.  "In addition, since a brief touch of the fingers is considered a highly intimate act, energetic mutual masturbation is not a common phenomenon."   I continue finger to finger contact while pressing my mouth to his. 

"Mmm. . ." Trip breaks contact and I reflect that it is fortunate that I cannot experience frustration. My displeasure at him wanes somewhat as it becomes apparent that he is still attempting to gage my contentedness level.  

He has the capacity to be a very foolish human. But he is _my _foolish human.  "Trip, I have never left our bed unfulfilled." 

He can no doubt feel the truthfulness of my statement through our bond. Still, he insists on testing me.  "Never?"

"With the exception of the three times we have been interrupted by the tactical alert, and the eleven times Captain Archer has interrupted us for duty related problems, never." 

The smile is a genuine one. "I'm glad, T'Pol."

"The same is true for you, I assume?"

"Oh, absolutely.  You've never left me wanting."

"Good. Now that the matter is settled, perhaps you would care to demonstrate human oral superiority in a context other than discussion?" 

There is the briefest of pauses before my very dear human begins to do just that.

~~~

The End


End file.
